


Three Times

by seerspirit



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, House Stark, Oneshot, Red Wedding, Spoilers for Book 3 - A Storm of Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seerspirit/pseuds/seerspirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Robb bid farewell to his young queen thrice.’  Three times Jeyne Westerling said goodbye to her king and her husband, Robb Stark, before he left for the Twins – three times which would never be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones is property of GRRM. I own nothing.
> 
> My first - and currently only foray - into the ASOIAF universe! Originally published on FF.Net in September 2013.

_Once in the godswood and once by the castle gates and once in the pouring rain._

 

* * *

 

In the godswood, Robb felt at home.  Riverrun would never be Winterfell, no matter how much he willed it, but the godswood, at least, brought him close to the Old Gods.  More than anything, it brought him close to his father.  In the godwood, he could close his eyes and pretend that he felt the sharp northern wind and the crisp bite of winter against his skin. 

 

But that was only a green boy’s dream, and Robb was a boy no longer.  _King in the North, King in the North..._   He shifted the jagged bronze and iron crown, which sat heavy on his head.

 

Beneath his feet, fallen leaves squelched in the waterlogged earth.  It had been raining on and off for days.  Winter was coming, surely as ever – but not before the autumn rains.  “Come, Jeyne,” he murmured, taking her by the hand.  “We’ll find no peace in the castle.”  Riverrun bustled with preparation for the journey to his uncle Edmure’s wedding. 

 

Robb drew Jeyne towards the ghostly white weirwood tree.  His stomach felt strangely light and queasy as he squeezed her hand.  Jeyne’s smile was as shy as a maid’s, though a maid she was not.  _Gods, how they’d tried._   As he helped her to her knees, Robb let his hand come to rest on the flat of her stomach.

 

Jeyne’s sweet smile wavered.  “My moon’s blood – it – “ She ducked her head, but Robb caught her by the chin.  “I’m sorry.  I had hoped that before you left I’d be… you know.”

 

“I know.”

 

They prayed beneath the weirwood tree, beneath the blood red leaves and bone-white branches.  They prayed for peace and for love and for a longed for heir.  When they finished, Jeyne made to stand, but Robb caught her wrist in his hand.  He brushed aside her thick, chestnut hair, and he kissed her. 

 

“I promise,” Jeyne mumbled, as they broke apart, “that I’ll give you a son.  _Seven_ sons, if you want.”

 

Robb laughed.  “I want you.”  He wiped away her tears with a sweep of his thumb.  “Forget the heir for now.  When I come back, we’ll think about the future.  That’s _my_ promise.”

 

Jeyne smiled and leaned towards him.  Her kiss was long and soft and thick with tears.  

 

* * *

 

 

 

Beneath the portcullis, she said her second goodbye.  _I must stay, must wait, must be a good wife._ But a _queen_ was what she truly was, if the crown Robb had made for her could be believed.  Queens did not wait meekly.  A queen went with the king, and they were as one.  As Robb embraced her at the castle gates, she threw back the hood her mother had made her wear and dug her fingers into his the thick fur of his cloak.  Beads of rain dripped over her cheeks and through her long hair. 

 

If Robb’s bannerman laughed behind their hands, Jeyne did not hear them.  She held Robb close because she might never hold him again.  It was not just love, but desperation.  Her mother thought she was still a child, yet Jeyne knew that war was no game.  The game of thrones they called it, yet she had never known anything less like a game.

 

She held tight to her king and her husband for as long as she could.  And she kissed him long and hard so that he would not forget her, his queen. 

 

* * *

 

 

_What will my mother say?_ Jeyne pushed that thought to the back of her mind.  She could feel the rain flying from her hair as she spurred her horse away from Riverrun in pursuit of her king.  For a long while, she feared she would not catch up with him.  The rain drove fiercely, harder and heavier, and her poor horse stumbled on the slick wet grass.

 

Jeyne gripped the saddle tightly with her knees.  Soon she realised that it was not the falling that scared her, but the stopping.

 

Robb would send her back.

 

Jeyne knew this like she knew of war and winter, and all other certain things.  Yet it did not stop her.  Finally, she caught sight of the grey and white direwolf of House Stark, flapping on the horizon.  With a nervous smile, she dug her heels into the horse’s flank and galloped the last mile or so. 

 

She did not get far, before Robb came trotting up to her, flanked by his sworn swords.  “You’re going to send me back,” she said.  “Don’t, Robb, please don’t.” 

 

“I must.”

 

“Take me with you,” she begged.  “A queen should remain beside her king.”

 

Robb dismounted as Jeyne did likewise.  The rain fell as drizzle here; it was almost anti-climactic.  He stepped towards her, lifting a hand to her cheek and leaning close so that only she could hear.  “You know you cannot come with me.”

 

“Why?” she asked, defiant. 

 

Robb nearly laughed at that.  She saw a brief flicker in his blue eyes – a second in which he was not a king fighting a war, but young and free.  If not for the crown, she might have believed it.  “My mother said – “ Robb started to say, then sighed.  _“I know_ you would be safer behind the castle walls than with me.  Walder Frey is a difficult man and your presence would be... problematic.”  His voice dropped to the faintest murmur.  “It’s not a matter of what I _want_ , Jeyne.  Gods, believe it.  It’s a matter of what is best.”

 

“Grey Wind likes this no more than I do,” Jeyne pointed out, even as she tasted defeat.  Something _had_ spooked him.  He stalked endlessly around the pair of them, snapping at the drops of rain as they landed on his nose.  He shook the water from his coat, soaking her.    

 

“He’s just restless to be going,” Robb said, firm but gentle.

 

Grey Wind had grown to be double the size of a normal wolf, but Jeyne had never seen one of those, so she couldn’t compare.  Instead, she thought of the scrawny dogs they kept at the Crag – a direwolf was easily three or four times the size of them.  She never felt scared around him, though.  If anything Grey Wind made her feel oddly reassured.  The sight of the great wolf loosened the knot of dread tightening in her stomach.  “Keep him close,” she told Robb.  “If you won’t take me… keep him near.”  She caught sight of Lady Catelyn, watching from her horse.

 

Robb gripped her hand and Jeyne knew he was about to leave her.  “I will,” he promised.

 

As she rode back to Riverrun, to await her mother’s disappointment, Jeyne tried to remember that last brief kiss as her king helped her onto her horse.  _Too brief_ , she thought, _one fleeting moment in a thousand._   It tasted of rain and salt, she remembered that.  What did he shout to her as he as he rode off?  She couldn’t recall. 

 

The game of thrones, they called it.  Jeyne had never felt less like playing.  She turned in the saddle and watched Robb’s host vanish into the distance, knowing that it would be raining over the Twins, just as it rained over her.  


End file.
